The kiss at the gate had been experimental.A means to an end.Or the gate had been an excuse.He liked kissing, hadn’t done it much lately, and with all the wild wanderings of his mind Sybil-ward—he’d given in to curiosity.
The truth?He’d been boiling in the bathtub because of the kiss as much as anything.Because he’d not been able to shrug it off as he’d thought he would be able to.It had consumed him in an instant, and he’d given in to it so freely, reveled in the flames.
He sat up and slung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a coldthunk.This time, she let him go.He moved the potions closer to the bed, setting them on a small table, and he moved her notebook closer too, the one she’d been looking at when he came in.
The handwriting scribbled between sketches was familiar.He brought it closer.
“Give that back.”She reached for it.
He moved out of swiping distance.“Is this Stone’s handwriting?I recognize it.”
She was gnawing on her bottom lip, more worried about this than her foot, useless creature.“Yes.I stole it.It’s why he stole me.Wanted me to figure it out because he could not.”She preened then waved her arm at him.“Give it back.”High red cheeks, slurred speech.She was done for.Charmingly so.
He studied the notes because he wanted to continue studying her.“What’s he going on about lead and gold for?”
He’d never seen a brow scrunch up so much before.“Lead?And…” When he gave her the notebook, she studied the page he’d been looking at.“I can’t read his scrawl a bit.”
“There.”He pointed.“Lead, and there, gold.See?Pb and Au?The alchemical symbols for lead and gold.”
“Alchemical symbols… I don’t know them.”She chewed on a fingernail.“Huh.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I don’t care you stole it.”
“Of course you don’t.”She was too busy studying the book to look at him.
She’d known he wouldn’t mind.And she’d still not told him.Of course she hadn’t.Why would she?They were playing at partners.Nothing more.When they’d gotten from one another what they each needed, whatever tethered them would dissolve.
He nudged the potion bottles closer.“For sleep.Drink it.This one for pain.Put it on the foot.This one’s for general healing.Do both or either.Doesn’t matter.”He made for the door.With his hand on the doorknob, he said, without turning around, “Call if you need me.”
“Good night, Apollo.”Her voice distracted.
She’d already moved on from that small request for a kiss.Good.Perfect.As it should be.
“Good night, Sybil.”
The hallway was dark and narrow, and his room cold and ruined.He stripped off his shirt and dunked it into the washbasin.He knelt by the now frigid bathtub and cleaned up Sybil’s blood.
13
LIKELY HORRIBLE
For a prison, Foggy Hill House was quite cozy looking.Nestled between gently rolling hills, it was square and mostly unremarkable.Trees hugged its side, and rather high and unkept hedges extended in either direction from its walls, barriers against the world.Or fences to keep Sybil inside.The entrance jutted out from the rest of the house, and a massive, curved window stretched above the front door.A low, sleepy fog shrouded the house, which seemed, somehow, to have slipped between worlds.
Remote, unreachable—the perfect place to stash a woman you wanted to hide.
“The name’s a bit too on the nose, if you ask me.”Apollo lounged against the coach as the driver unloaded their luggage.He’d been unnaturally cheerful all day, as if yesterday—the kiss, the injury, the drunken conversation—had never happened.
Sybil took a step toward the house, but before her foot could touch the gravel, he swooped her up in his arms.This the only change, the only evidence he’d not forgotten.The horrid man wouldn’t let her walk.
“I have a cane,” she said.Mrs.Paisley had brought it to her right before they’d left, iron and silver shaped into a rather lovely twist of tree branches.
“Saw your—erm—brothercarrying you down the street yesterday,” she’d said, handing over the cane.“Everyone did.Thought you might need this.”
“Can you open the door?”
